ataraxy

I walk the path to my oasis of tranquility,
the sound of it keeps me sane.
nothing in this world can elucidate its gentility.
making me discern that life is never mundane.

the drops kiss my forehead and my heart,
as I take a stroll down the lane,
one of them hits me like a dart.
the sweet smell of petrichor emanating from the drying grass,
calms me down,
yet again.
it pours and pours,
like the king of the jungle roars.
as the sound of drops becomes audible,
unhurriedly, my spirit soars.
in the strait lane,
how breathtaking is the rain!
forgetting my affliction,
I grin,
again. 
            - Isha

quell the chaos

I was often compared to a caterpillar in the cocoon.
A girl once slapped me because I complained about her wrongdoings to the professor.
That schmuck!
I was always targeted in school as I was the quiet one. I had 'friends' who always took me for granted.

My teachers thought that I wasn't working hard enough in spite of being capable. My classmates used to make fun of me for being naive. I felt too sheepish to have a word with the guy I was crushing on. I was bullied by two girls;
Fiendish intentions.
My life was a conglomeration of thoughts and notions.
At times, I felt vacuous.

But I knew that someday, I would turn things around.

    I dropped out of Mathematics in the 9th grade, to my father's dismay. He wanted me to opt for science and don a laboratory coat. I always had this penchant for arts. Words and sketches made way more sense to me than numbers. I was too busy creating something of my own and discovering myself. I still am. I hated Math. This picture is how it used to make me feel. Wobbly. Muddled.

       It is all right to NOT know everything. It's fine to be dyslexic. It is okay to be the 'not so loquacious' or 'not so genial' one. It's not necessary for you to be as clever or as quick-witted as your classmate or your crush. We all have our own strengths and weaknesses. When life gets fuzzy and nebulous, you just need to adjust your focal point. You need to find sequence in the mayhem within you.
Trust the undertones of your instincts and allow them to guide you. Be proud of your goddamn soul. Lead yourself, so you can lead others.

                                          - Isha

 

                                                                                                          

archived

my face crimsoned,

back in the fragile winter air,

i wished for the bloom on my neck to last,

with your whispers blowing in my hair.

on a clement night of balladry,

you enveloped me like a warm blanket,

through the beating hours that ran so fast,

as i fell asleep in your jacket.

my ardour wanting you to hold me tight,
your fingers entwined with mine,

is this why I hide you in every verse I write?

my senses numbed in the gelid weather,

repenting not disclosing your flaws as delightful as a heather. 

you.
the flower to my plant,
the star to my sky,
the solace to my sorrow,
the inspiration to my mind.

                                - isha
                                             

beyond the border

border.
a boundary that runs between us.
a line that divides us,
the one that demarcates our states,
neither of us fabricated it,
on my mind, this always reverberates.

my blood is red, too.
I also have a heart that beats.
we have the same skin,
because we are species akin.
the same ears; the same eyes,
yet we fail to realize,
that we are nothing but one.
I, too, get hurt.
I, too, weep.
I, too, laugh.
I, too, want to be loved.

we breathe the same air,
yet we never ruminate beyond the border.

our ancestors have played in the dust of this land together,

today,
we fear each other.

separated by religion, caste and creed,
shouldn't we kill this animosity?
why couldn't they listen to our plead?
because to me,
this is nothing but atrocity.

this frontier wasn't created by us,
it seems like an unsociable cuss.
how I wish I could travel back in time,
and cease the making of this line,
allowing humanity to define us.

don't you ever dream of rising above these fallacies?

don't you pray for peace?
I frequently wonder,
if you think of being here,
the way I think of being there?
I wonder if you think of being me
the way I think of being you.

I hope that someday, we discover it in our hearts,
to love once again.

  - Isha.













(picture : Shaili R.)